


Sunk Cost Fallacy

by Theaisa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Blood Magic, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theaisa/pseuds/Theaisa
Summary: Or, Hermione has read too many muggle investment books. Harry Potter dies, Hermione decides to cut her losses.A look into the ever logical mind of Hermione Granger. Also, she's gay for a pair of pretty blue eyes.Prompt: "Lots of people die from fall damage".
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 123





	Sunk Cost Fallacy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for taking your time to read my fic. I promise none of my fics are abandoned, but my muse has been on holiday and I haven't felt like writing :( Hopefully this story will bring me out of my funk.
> 
> So far no continuation planned, but feel free to comment if you want more ;) Might make this Hermione/Narcissa + Hermione/Bellatrix if I decide to continue it.

Hermione felt utterly numb as she watched the second funeral in as many months. And to think she had been looking forward to their sixth year with such a naive hopeful optimism. A year free of Umbridge, a year where the Ministry had acknowledged the revival of Voldemort. To be just students at last, to learn the higher workings of Magic and be introduced to NEWT-level classes.

And the first six months _had_ been good, despite the drama of the slug club and of her best friends suspecting Draco Bloody Malfoy of every misdeed imaginable. She shuddered and wrapped an arm around herself, a slight chill penetrating her state of apathy. Her best friend.

It had been the first Quidditch game of the new semester when the unthinkable happened. Harry Potter, star seeker of Gryffindor, the boy-who-lived, _fell_ from his broom. She didn’t even know what he had been doing, which crazy, inane manoeuvre the stupid boy had been trying to do. As usual she had been sitting in the back, head in a book, while her friends cheered and screamed about their stupid game. She barely felt a tear run down her cool cheek at the memory. All she could remember was the terrible, terrifying _crunch_ , and when’d scrambled to her feet, there he was, body barely recognizable after a fall from that height. 

She didn’t know why no one had managed to cast a levitation spell on him as he fell, which quirk of fate had caused the teachers and spectators to have been distracted in that exact second. But she’d sure screamed every obscenity she knew at them for failing to do so, as she’d struggled to reach him and was kept from his side - she vaguely remembered professor McGonagall holding her as she’d broken down in her arms. She had felt numb then, too.

That funeral had been a massive event, as it seemed everyone in the British wizarding world had wanted to say their goodbyes to their so-called Savior. She barely remembered any of it. She had barely even cried after that first day, all she had felt was numb as she’d gone to her classes and handed in her assignments over the next two months - perfect marks, as always.

And now here she was at the funeral of Albus Dumbledore, as she stood apart from her friends feeling lost and alone - not that she could blame them for that. She had certainly snapped at Ron, Neville and Ginny enough times over the past two weeks that they knew not to get too close.

She watched the faces of her friends, of her schoolmates and of the remaining members of the Order - it seemed most everyone had come to say their goodbyes to the so-called leader of the Light. The most prevalent emotion she saw was anger, or perhaps determination. But many looked as resigned and lost as she herself felt.

She couldn’t help but think that they were going to die. They were all going to die. 

She had fallen in as best friend of Harry Potter almost by accident, but it was not a role she had ever regretted until now. Every step she’d taken had seemed both logical and right at the time - after all, Voldemort wanted to enslave or murder muggleborns like her. She was not only fighting for the Light, but for her own life and rights. And she could not lie to herself - the more she had learned about wizarding society, the more she had wished for the power to change things, and winning the war as the best friend of Harry Potter and Brightest Witch of her Age had seemed the perfect gateway into politics so she could change things from the inside.

That was all lost in the wind now. And as she stood there watching the funeral of Albus Dumbledore, mere months after Harry Potter’s, she couldn’t help but feel that his cause was being buried with him. She had always prided herself on her logic, and while a part of her _was_ angry and wanted to fight until the bitter end, to hurt the Death Eaters until they felt the pain she did, the stronger, more logical part of her was reminded of a Muggle investment term called ‘Sunk Cost Fallacy’.

Death Eaters had entered Hogwarts itself and murdered the leader of the Light, and Dumbledore’s most trusted spy, Professor Snape himself, was said to have done the deed. Harry Potter was dead. Dumbledore was dead. The Order was in scrambles and she strongly suspected Voldemort had infiltrated the Ministry. No matter how much she might have wished it otherwise, she knew Voldemort had won.

As she stood watching the grieving crowd, she realized something that should perhaps have been obvious - as much as she was hurting, she didn’t want to die. She wanted to explore all that Magic had to offer, she still wanted her chance to change the world. 

Logic dictated she had to cut her losses, but how? She could take her parents and flee, perhaps to the United States or Australia. But even if she could convince her parents, how long would she be safe there, always looking over her shoulder? Her perfect platform into politics if they had won was now her biggest liability. Even if she fled and Voldemort won, she would never be safe. The muggleborn best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived? She would always be a possible rallying point of his opposition. If she was Lord Voldemort, there was no way she would let herself live, even half a world away.

No, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in hiding. There was a reason she was sorted into Gryffindor - no matter how much she adored knowledge, or how clever and ambitious she was, she was a woman of action. And if the order couldn’t win, and she couldn’t flee without spending her life in hiding and slowly going crazy from having to look over her shoulder, her only chance - however small - was to join Voldemort. To join the Dark Lord, she corrected herself.

And as she stood there, alone and apart, watching Dumbledore be buried and his ideals and cause with him, she felt more herself than she had in months. She had a plan, however crazy it might be, but that's par for the course. Now all that remained was for her to carry it out. She could feel the numbness that had haunted her slowly lift, and she knew she was smiling as she turned around and headed for Hogsmeade, leaving the funeral and her friends behind.

A week later found her in the most expensive robes she had ever owned, two-inch heels, a brand new manicure and modest make-up that she felt looked natural, yet made her eyes look dark and mysterious - in other words, she looked nothing like herself. Yet she couldn’t help but smirk to herself as she approached the excessively ornate, overgrown gates somewhere in Wiltshire - if you were possibly going to your own funeral, might as well look your best doing it.

She had thought long and hard on the best way for a Muggleborn to survive in a world controlled by the Dark Lord and she knew her only chance was to find someone to champion her cause - to protect her in a world where people like her might be hunted for sport. She had no illusions that her life going forward would be easy, but as long as she was alive there was a chance for improvement. Her plan was always to work the system from the inside.. this might not have been what she had in mind, but she was nothing if not adaptable.

She took a deep breath and touched her wand to the bell, announcing herself to whoever was inside - hopefully her chosen patron, or this might be her funeral indeed. She didn’t jump when a house elf appeared on the other side of the gates, but the little creature’s eyes startled wide when he, she?, she wasn’t sure, saw her. She met the little being’s eyes and offered a faint smile.

“Please tell your mistress that Hermione Granger requests an audience.” The little elf nodded and disappeared with a soft pop. She slumped slightly - step one of her plan complete, she’d made contact. She was proud of her voice not quavering, because this was it. The point of no return. When this was over, she would either be dead or have sold herself into virtual slavery - and she had just gambled her life on the latter. 

The gates swung open without a sound. She took another deep breath and entered, three steps, then paused as the gates closed behind her with a clang that sounded very final. She had to close her eyes for a moment and wait for her heart to calm. After she entered she might very well be under constant scrutiny, this was her very last chance to have a panic attack. 

To her distinct surprise, no panic attack seemed to be incoming, so she straightened her shoulders and stepped closer to a place she had hoped never to see up close - Malfoy Manor. The building was imposing indeed, a true Victorian manor that made her feel smaller with every step she took up the stairs to the massive double door by the entrance. 

She paused in front of the imposing set of doors. She’d hoped they would open at her approach, but it seemed she wasn’t that lucky. This could still be a trap, there might be a curse on the doors to kill her the moment a muggleborn dared touch them, but she didn’t see how she had any other choice. She told herself that she’d made her choices, it was far too late to have second thoughts. So she tried to ignore the pounding of her heart and butterflies in her stomach as she reached for the doorknob. 

The doors opened almost silently at her slightest touch, and she stepped inside the foyer with her heart in her throat. The elf was waiting for her inside, and wordlessly pointed down a corridor, and she obeyed mechanically, the corridor stretching itself out before her, until.. she entered a sitting room, and stopped abruptly in her tracks. 

There was her chosen patron, elegant and looking perfectly put together as any time she had seen her, sitting elevated above the others as though holding court. She didn’t seem to have noticed her presence yet - caught up in discussion with two other ladies she didn’t recognize. 

There were more people in the room than she had anticipated, making her anxiety rise to the forefront, a dozen or more people sitting in small clusters sipping glasses of various alcohol and making conversation. All purebloods, and she thought she recognized a few death eaters among them but her heart was beating too hard for her to focus properly on them - she dragged her gaze back to the reason she’d come.

Conversation slowly stopped around the room as she was noticed, until only a few murmurs broke the otherwise resounding silence. She forced herself to step forward, one step, two, until those piercing cold blue eyes focused on her and she stopped in her tracks, some ten feet from her target.

Her resolve wavered.. this was far from the first time this very same pair of blue eyes had stopped her rambling thoughts in their tracks, but she did not quite recall them being so very cold. In fact, when the woman had caught her staring two years ago during the triwizard tournament and she’d gotten flustered and blushed, she could have sworn the woman had smirked, amusement dancing in those piercing blue orbs. It wasn’t much to gamble her life on, but it was the best she had.

 _Deep breath, Hermione_ , she thought, recalling the books that ultimately brought her here. There was certainly precedence for what she was about to do, even if the examples she had read of were hundreds of years old.

She knelt and lowered her gaze.

“Lady Malfoy née Black,” she intoned, and carefully placed her wand horizontally in front of her. She heard rustling from in front of her, but she didn’t dare look up. Her heart was pounding and her palms sweaty as she placed them on the ground. She prayed for her voice to remain steady. She prayed that intention mattered more than traditional word choice, the books had not been clear. She closed her eyes. 

“My name is Hermione Granger, I come before you a free Witch of age beholden to none. I offer my wand and my life in servitude however you might desire and ask only your guidance and protection in return.” 

The room was so silent, all she could hear was her own nervous breathing. 

She didn’t expect soft fingers to grasp her chin, and her eyes fluttered open with a gasp. She found herself staring into those damnable blue eyes, though relief filled her when she realized they had softened in thought.

“Why?”, Narcissa Black Malfoy asked, just one word, the first word she had ever directed at her.

Her thoughts raced, ‘Why’ what? Why was she here? Why would she accept? She wet her lips, her gaze locked on Narcissa’s. She didn’t dare look away. The butterflies in her stomach were back in force.

“They say I am the Brightest Witch of my Age,” she started carefully, trying to keep her voice steady but knew she sounded breathless, “I am not foolish enough to fight a losing battle. The Dark Lord will win. I wish to choose my own fate, my Lady”

The older witch merely hummed in thought, thumb gently stroking her cheek. She shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed. When the humming and movement stopped after a moment she blinked her eyes open and immediately flushed. That damnable smirk was back! And it did _things_ to her, and she was sure the woman knew it.

“And you choose.. me?”, Narcissa mused, “Are you sure you understand what you are doing?”

“Yes, my Lady”, she breathed.

They stared into each other’s eyes long enough that Hermione lost track of time, and she jumped when Narcissa snapped her fingers and a house elf appeared. 

“Bring my athame”, she ordered, and the elf disappeared as quickly as it came.

She held her breath. Blood oath? She should have expected this, but somehow hadn’t. She’d thought an oath on her magic would be enough. She was caught between being terrified and exhilarated that her plan was actually working. If she swore this oath, she would be bound for life, or until her new Mistress set her free.

“Your right hand, girl”. Startled out of her thoughts, she offered Narcissa her right hand. Her wand hand. The woman took it between hers, and - somehow she’d already gotten her athame - cut deeply into her palm. She hissed in pain.

Then Narcissa cut deeply into her own palm, and dropped the athame - she vaguely registered that it disappeared in a poof of smoke before it hit the ground. The older witch clutched her right hand with hers, their blood mingling and dripping onto the ground between them. She stared. She was kneeling, right hand up. Narcissa was standing before her, right hand facing down and their shared blood dripping onto her wand on the ground between them. What meaning did the symbolism have? She didn’t know enough about blood magic to guess. She knew she would look it up if she survived this.

“Your oath”, the other woman prodded, and she nodded and took a deep breath. Merlin, she hoped she’d get this right.

“My Lady, I swear to be faithful to your will and to never knowingly cause you harm. Your causes are my causes, your enemies are my enemies. My will to yours. My life is yours.”, she held her breath.

“I swear to guide you and protect you to the best of my abilities,” it felt like Narcissa was staring deep into her soul. The only other sound in the room was the sound of their blood hitting her wand, drip, drip. “Do you accept?”

She wet her lips. That was a little vague, wasn’t it? Yet it was exactly what she had asked for. Narcissa was a slytherin through and through, she supposed that if the Dark Lord decided to kill her new pet, she’d need some wriggle room to avoid consequences from the Blood Bond. 

“I accept.”

“Very well. The House of Black accepts your oath.” She paused, and looked around the silent room. “Let it be known that from this day, Hermione Granger is a vassal of the House of Black.”

She stared. W-what?.. She knew Narcissa was born a Black, but she had expected a personal oath of servitude, or perhaps that of Malfoy at worst. What did this mean?

Then Narcissa had let go of her hand, and she became suddenly more aware of the sting of pain in her palm, without the older woman’s touch. She watched as Narcissa pointed her wand at her own hand, healed it non-verbally, then did the same to hers. She rubbed her palm and smiled weakly in thanks. 

Narcissa then accio’d her wand from the floor, and cleaned it with a Scourgify, before offering it back to her. She was aware of the symbolism involved. Oaths had been accepted, her wand returned to her hand from the hand of her new Lady. She took it with the solemnity the situation demanded, and slowly climbed to her feet, ready to drop back to her knees if her mistress objected - but she saw nothing but approval in those captivating blue eyes.

Narcissa looked around the room again, paused to meet the eyes of her guests. “I trust what happened here does not leave certain circles until the Dark Lord has decided on a course of action.”

When no objection was forthcoming, she looked to Hermione and inclined her head towards one of the exits. No words were necessary - Hermione followed her out like a puppy. When the door closed behind them, she heard furious whispers start up, just before all sound was cut off.

They went up to the first floor and down a corridor, coming to a stop before a door that looked much like the others. 

“This will be your room, call for Winky if you need anything”, she paused then actually smiled. Smiled! Hermione tried her hardest not to swoon. “You will find the library down the hall, I trust you know enough not to touch anything you shouldn’t. If you are cursed by a book, I will not be held responsible.” 

She nodded quickly, cleared her throat, “What happens now?”

Blue eyes met hers, “Now dear girl, we set up an audience with the Dark Lord. If he approves, I will spend the summer teaching you to defend yourself and in the fall you go back to school. I suspect he will ask that you keep an eye on your classmates and.. report any signs of rebel sentiment. I suggest you start preparing yourself for the possibility.”

To be a spy. She didn’t want to, she really didn’t, but she knew that if her Lady asked it of her, she would. She inclined her head. “I will. Thank you.”

“Good night”, the older witch replied, and then she was gone, and Hermione slipped into her room. It was larger than anything she had ever stayed in, and more opulent by far - one could be forgiven for thinking she had traded up.

She collapsed on her new queen sized bed and clasped a hand over her mouth as she started laughing. It actually worked! She laughed until she cried, and cried until she fell asleep.

_Oh, Harry, please forgive me._


End file.
